


If I Were You

by KarenPagex



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Angst, Blind Character, Gen, Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-12-01 22:41:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11496252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KarenPagex/pseuds/KarenPagex
Summary: After Matt's father died, he fell into a system of slavery. Karen's walking with some friends by a dark alley one day when she hears a suspicious noise.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AU where Karen also grew up in New York

When Battlin' Jack Murdock passed away, Matt wasn't sure what was going to happen next. It felt like the world had ended, there was nothing left for him moving forward, and there never would be anything again. He just felt so alone.

Then, prying hands came to get his own hands off his father's body. They assured him they'd help him, they understood his pain, but he was going to be all right, they'd take him somewhere.

And before Matt knew it or fully understood what was going on, he felt himself being stuffed into a cage, the feeling of cold metal around him. He wasn't sure why he figured this would be temporary, why in that moment he hadn't realized that it didn't make any sense until he overheard the voices. People spoke about how he was a year under the legal age for the system, that they'd leave him and wait until he was old enough. They mentioned how this was easier, almost a "favor" to him because they were absolutely sure no one would be willing to adopt a blind boy into their family. They'd "train" him on how to be an obedient and respectful slave, and then put him up for sale on the market, (at a cheaper price, of course), and hope the day would come when someone would take him home.

Matt remembers the first family that did take him home, once he was eleven and of age, though he tries his best to forget them. All of them. Every family who's taken him in over the years. There were various instances when he tried his absolute best to escape, but these came to no avail. He could only get so far when his overwhelming senses caused him to stop and break down at a nearby street corner, only to be found minutes later.

Then there was Stick, who had taken him in after the second or third family. Stick, who kept speaking of some upcoming war, and how he was searching for children to recruit and train, but Matt had let him down, so before he knew it he was back in a cage again. He was only grateful Stick was able to teach him what to do with his senses, though he still wasn't entirely sure whether or not it was worth it.

As time went on, Matt learned more and more about how to be more obedient and please his new owners. It was simple things like kneeling before them at appropriate times, never asking for anything but waiting for them to feed him instead. 

When he was thirteen and back in a cage waiting to be chosen once more, the system introduced metal collars that were to be worn around the neck at all times. They promised eventually these would expand into collars with the ability to shock slaves, as a new method of discipline. Matt still remembers when he felt the cool metal click around his neck.

How did he keep ending up here? He couldn't even decide if he'd rather be lonely in a cage or back serving some family or person. Either way, he'd be beaten and bossed around, but which was truly better?

And then finally, just after Matt's fifteenth birthday, an elderly couple came to take a look at all the available slaves. They toured the market with caution, taking in each slave's appearance and condition before making a final decision. They stopped before Matt's cage and seemed to agree that he was their choice: they were somehow convincing themselves they were doing something for the greater good, actually helping someone, an act of charity.

All in all, they were pretty nice. At least, in comparison to his previous families. They still locked him to a wall when it was bed time and made him work around the house or in the yard, but Matt was used to this by now. Once in awhile, he was beaten for misbehaving which he felt he understood. He should not have addressed his owner without having said "sir" afterward. That was simply unacceptable.

While working in the yard one late summer evening, Matt saw the opportunity to escape. The elderly husband, Mr. Montgomery, had gone inside briefly to get a drink, which may have been foolish of him but he was so utterly convinced Matt wouldn't try anything. And in most cases, he'd be right. Matt definitely contemplated this decision for a lot longer than he most likely should have. He tried to consider the possibilities he'd be caught, and then, of course, the consequences- the brutal consequences he'd have to face. But who would he be if he hadn't given it at least one last, final shot?

Matt ran free from the garden, out toward the city, and he kept running until it felt like his legs would almost give out under him until he felt as though his own body would betray him. He snuck into an otherwise dark alley between two buildings and hoped against hope that no one would think to come in there.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karen finally hears the noise.

His stomach was growling way too hard and way too often, something that was making it that much harder to ignore. Matt honestly couldn't remember the last time he had eaten, couldn't remember the last few crumbs let alone a full meal. In the weeks that passed while he remained unseen in the dark alleyway, he had been able to scrounge through a few scraps or leftovers that were thrown out from restaurants but more recent days had been less hopeful. Not to mention it was almost Autumn, and the clothing he had shamefully stolen was far too light for the coming weather.

 

Matt made his way up to a rooftop, where he perched and tried his best to listen to the city. Lack of food made it a lot harder to concentrate, and he felt as though his senses themselves were becoming duller, less reliable. This wasn't good, it was worrisome. He needed to find some food, quick.

He opted for sniffing the air instead. Despite being here for well over a week, moving into two, he hadn't been able to learn his surroundings as easily. Maybe he was just used to being moved from location to location so often. Finally, there it was, a faint hint of Greek food, wafting over from a Greek restaurant a few buildings away. Fresh food usually meant leftovers were bound to be thrown out, so there was some hope. He'd rush across the rooftops, drop down by their trash, eat whatever seemed edible, and be off before anyone could see him or would even know he had been there.

Though his slave collar was off, (the Montgomery family, in their belief that taking him in was being charitable, had taken it off before his departure to seem more nice, though this didn't take away from the few times they had beaten him for disobedience), he knew he still had a barcode tattooed into his skin on his neck. If anyone were to see, he'd be back at the market before he knew it. Maybe he could fight people off? No, he was much too weak and scrawny at the moment to even consider it. So he'd have to be fairly quick.

 

Matt ran across the building's rooftop onto the next building, only to encounter a gap between the building he was on and his destination. He'd have to leap across to make it, a risk he was willing to take. A slightly chilly breeze came out, and Matt backed up for a running start. He'd make this jump, wouldn't he? He's made these countless times before, especially under Stick's guidance. "Guidance". Stick had been harsh, calling it "guidance" seemed almost too pleasant. 

 

Taking a deep breath, Matt sprinted forward and then launched himself at the other building, he would make it, he would make it-  
He was falling. He flailed his arms out trying to grab something in order to stop the fall but the ground was rushing to meet him quickly.  
  


He blacked out, right on the concrete.

 

* * *

 

Karen couldn't believe what Martha was saying. "You decided to go out with Timothy? Isn't he the one who threw spitballs at you in eighth grade? You absolutely hated him!"

Martha giggled but said nothing, taking a look at her friends. "Karen, Stacy... When will you two ever grow up? That was eighth grade! We're fifteen now. He's different. He's changed."

Karen continued to stare at Martha in disbelief but said nothing. If Martha wanted to go out with Timothy, who was she to judge? She was one of Martha's best friends, she would be supportive. She looked down at her empty plate. "We should ask for the bill, shouldn't we? It's also getting late."

The two other girls nodded in agreement and soon enough they were back out on the streets of the city, on their way to their own homes. Much of the walk was silent, save for Stacy's heels clicking on the pavement. Then they heard it, all three of them- a suspiciously loud noise, coming from a dark area between two buildings.

 "Probably some druggy." Stacy said, almost too calmly, leading them forward. "You don't want to look into that, I assure you. Haven't you seen any movies? The guy who knows too much is usually the one who gets shot or killed. Literally, just keep walking."

Karen couldn't help but feel a tug in her gut that encouraged her to investigate, somehow it didn't seem like 'just some druggy' and what was the harm of truly knowing? No, Stacy was probably right. They should head home, it's already late and their parents must be worried.

"Yeah, come on Karen." Martha said. Karen didn't move. Martha looked back at Karen, slightly angered. "You're not seriously considering walking into a  _dark alley_ on your own, are you?"

"I mean..." Karen began, watching her friends roll their eyes.

"You know what, Karen? Why are you always so reckless? I don't mean to be rude, it's just been on my mind for awhile. If you want to check it out, go ahead, but I'm going home. What about you, Stacy?"

Karen couldn't help but feel slightly angry by this remark, but let it slide nonetheless. She wasn't going to blame them for not wanting to stay, in any other situation, she probably would've gone off with them as well, this did seem pretty crazy. But there was just this  _feeling_ , she couldn't shake it. It seemed so right.

"-Yeah, I'm gonna go too. I- just, it seems dangerous. See ya, Karen. Call me when you get home though, okay?" 

"I'll be fine. If it looks too weird, I'll be out quick. Get home safe, you guys."

Karen watched her friend's backs, continuing to stare until they rounded a corner and disappeared from her line of sight. Taking a deep breath, she turned toward the alleyway. 


	3. Chapter 3

Karen was speechless, she couldn't believe her own eyes. As she got closer, the figure lying in the dark became clearer. He was clearly a boy, about her age, which was definitely not what she expected. He seemed unconscious, but why? Was he beaten up, or had he fallen? Karen looked up at the buildings. None of them had any windows on this side, nor fire escapes. He hadn't fallen off the roof, had he? It was about two stories, that must've hurt.

She approached with caution, taking an even closer look at him. The random boy was lying on his stomach, his head tilted off slightly to the side. He was definitely unconscious, there were no doubts about that now.   
Gently, she kneeled beside him as if to check him for injuries. She was no doctor, but she knew moving him may be potentially dangerous, it would probably be smarter to just call an ambulance, they'd take care of it for sure unless he was a slave. This was unlikely, even the least competent slave owners she'd seen at least remembered the obvious proper guidelines: lock your slave up when they're not performing tasks for you, or keep them chained as they perform their duties, whenever possible. She frowned in disapproval, the system always seemed so inhumane.

Nevertheless, her gut told her she should check. She searched the usual areas for an implanted GPS, something the system called "more modern and reliable". Finding nothing, she breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn't a slave after all. Just some poor boy who must be running from home, or lost somehow. She attempted to move him to the side slightly, further away from the possibility of prying eyes. New York could be dangerous this time of night, she should be home. Her parents must be worried.  
His clothes were definitely awful, perhaps he was homeless instead, which would be awful. They were just so dirty and torn, there was no way he was warm in this. She pulled back his sleeve.

Karen audibly gasped, then quickly covered her own mouth with her hand. His wrist had been tattooed with a barcode. She then examined his neck, and surely enough, a matching bar code was present there too. No way. This could only mean he had been within the system for years, tattooing was an abandoned practice.

She reached for her phone, dialing the number for slave services. She may not like them, but it was the law. No, she wouldn't. She looked at his dirty face once more, he was definitely around her age. She couldn't. 

Setting her phone down, Karen covered his wrist with his sleeve once more, and made her way back out of the alley, into the street lights. This was reckless, Martha was right. She shouldn't be doing this-  
"Sir?" She said hopefully, directed toward a man in a business suit, busy on his phone. He appeared to be the only person passing by.

"Hang on, some girl is talking to me." He said to the person on the phone and then turned to Karen, visibly annoyed. "What is it?"  
"I was wondering if you could help me with something?" She said hopefully, then quickly added, "It's pretty urgent."  
Frowning, Karen was sure he was considering any possible excuse in the book to say no. She looked at him pleadingly, gesturing toward the alley. "Someone I know has been hurt, I just need help carrying him home. It's late, we need to be back before either of us gets in any trouble."  
The man sighed, stroking his forehead. He turned back to his phone. "I'll talk to you when I get home, Minerva. I'm going to help a teenager quickly, don't worry about it." He hung up.  
"How do I know this isn't a setup?" He asked her finally, following her slowly into the darkness of the alley.  
Karen laughed nervously, "I promise it's not. It's not. He's just been hurt and I'm not strong enough to drag him home by myself. I'll figure out what to do from there, promise. I also don't live far from here." 

She motioned toward the boy. "He's over here, uh-"  
The man sighed. "Michael."  
"Right, he's just over here, Michael." Karen gestured toward the unconscious body. "I cannot stress enough how gentle we have to be, I don't know how hurt he truly is."  
"Wouldn't it be easier to just call an ambulance?" He asked suspiciously.  
"Probably, but like I said, our parents want us home. It's hard to explain, he'll be alright, okay?" The last part felt more like Karen was trying to convince herself than Michael.  
Michael leaned down and made as if to pick him up. "Why's he so skinny and dirty?"   
"It'll take awhile to explain, he's my brother, let's just get him home, yeah?"  
And as a show of Karen's continuous poor luck, while being picked up his sleeve revealed the barcode on his wrist.  
Michael looked at it suspiciously, then back at Karen.


	4. Chapter 4

"You didn't think it was right to mention your "brother" is a slave?!" Michael said angrily, each word hitting Karen like a brick. She knew there would be a chance it would all go wrong, but after he'd agreed to help her she didn't think that moment would come so soon. "Why would I help h- this  _thing_?" He blurted out the final word with such disgust Karen couldn't help but feel angry. "When this sort of thing happens, you call  _slave services_ , they're trained with how to deal with these creatures."

Karen opened her mouth in shock. "Look, he's the family slave, okay?" She blurted out suddenly, and before she could control herself the rest of the lies just continued to pour out. "I was out with some friends and he was supposed to make sure we made it back okay, my parents' orders, but then  _this_ happened." Before Michael could begin to ask what "this" even was, she opted for even more lies. Lying was easier the more you did it, that was the saying, right? "I- I hate him just as much as the next person but I don't want to get in trouble. Think of all the paperwork and explaining I'd have to do with slave services once they picked him up, and then to my own parents on why a simple night went so wrong. I'll- I'll see to it that he gets punished just as soon as we get home because he definitely deserves it." She tried her best to ignore her internal disgust at what she had just said, finally adding: "But for now I just want to get home, is that so hard? You can sanitize your hands after you've carried him if you really need to."

 

Michael didn't seem all too convinced, or at the very least, didn't seem to care. He looked at Karen and then straight back at the boy on the ground, shaking his head. "I'm not going to get caught up in this mess." 

Karen furrowed her brows in anger but didn't call after him as she watched him go. Maybe it was for the best, he was a scumbag either way. She turned back to the boy and kneeled on the cool pavement beside him, groaning in frustration. Allowing her back to rest against the rough bricks, she closed her eyes and considered her options. There was either taking him home herself, which as she had told "Michael", was not possible. Although fairly scrawny, he was still most likely too heavy for Karen to carry all on her own. 

Looking back toward him, she stroked his cheek gingerly. "We'll figure something out." 

 

* * *

 

Karen remembered about a year ago, the time when she decided to join the school newspaper team. That had been exciting, hearing there were limited spots for new entries and then being told she'd made it, she'd beaten the odds. She had rushed home in utter excitement, bursting with joy and pride as soon as she had seen her mother. It may have been a slight exaggeration for simply joining a club at school, but a lot of the other clubs just hadn't interested her in the same way. Writing had been one of her not-so-secret passions for awhile now, and this newer opportunity meant writing things that a lot of people at school could read, not just things she would be writing on a blog at home or into her own diary.

The first few articles she had decided to write were obviously centered around school life. There was the big game that seniors mostly attended, then she tried writing smaller stories about other clubs and whatever it was they were up to. The photography club had an interesting session where they discussed different terms and some history, so Karen had gleefully attended this and then shared her newfound knowledge to her readers, if any. She liked to imagine she had at least two or three loyal people who would pick up the paper and flip to her page, though the very few times she'd actually heard the newspaper being discussed it was mostly in regards to Monica's horror stories. Karen couldn't deny being interested in those as well, but the lack of enthusiasm in no way stopped her.

Then the teacher in charge of the newspaper club had thought it would be a neat idea for the four writers to choose something outside of school life once a month. The other three would still continue to focus on upcoming school event dates and coverage of school pride, but the writer chosen for the given month could write about absolutely anything else and then hope to get it approved for publishing.

When Karen's month arrived, she was ecstatic. This quickly descended into a particularly large bout of writer's block: She wasn't sure what she was going to write about. She could report on the city's then-upcoming October plans, but that somehow felt too mundane, too boring. She needed something bigger, something that would set her apart. After a week of careful thought, she decided to write a heavily opinionated piece on the country's current slavery laws.

It was no secret that slave services, otherwise dubbed ominously as "The System" were quite powerful. There was an argument to be made on one side about using prisoners, convicts, or "useless" people that contributed "nothing to society" as a source for cheaper labor. At first, it was met with mostly disapproval, but it quickly rose up. Businesses were pleased with the idea of having to pay less for their workers, and everyone else seemed content with the idea of having some extra help at home, without worrying about having to pay these people either.

Then "The System" introduced their program for educating their "workers" in a manner of obedience, to ensure the utmost care and professionalism. That's when they came up with some rules they had their people recite almost daily until it was practically ingrained into their memories. Workers must always obey their Bosses, never talk back, never run away. The term "workers" was quickly dropped in favor of "slaves" but no one seemed to pay this any mind. It was later made legal to beat or punish your slaves in any way you deemed fit if they were misbehaving, and through the years this just became more and more acceptable. People were seen beating and mistreating their slaves in public. This was encouraged, applauded on Masters should always enforce their position. 

"Defective slaves" that had tried to run away from their chosen establishments and homes were sent back to the system. What happened at this stage wasn't always clear to outsiders who weren't part of the organization itself. People believed they were punished and then when the moment was right, put back on the market, but after a certain number of offenses it was almost as if these people were never seen again, just replaced with newer slaves. The weaker ones tended to vanish just as fast.

For about two months there had been an outbreak of slaves escaping, and though most were caught, the general consensus agreed that something had to be done about this, so bar codes were introduced, quickly succeeded by GPS implants, which were seen as more reliable. By law, slaves were also required to wear their collars while out in public, whether or not they were seen with their masters, and there were given areas that slaves were not permitted entry. A vast majority places wouldn't even serve a slave or look them in the eye, the only exception being if they had been sent by their masters to fetch something and already had the approval to walk out on their own as well as a signed slip from their master explaining that they had indeed sent their property out to get them that specific bread.

Several best-selling books surged on the market and also took it by storm: how to properly handle your slave, proper discipline methods everybody should know about, and so on.

These always caused Karen to turn away in disgust, it was all just so wrong. So inhumane, she simply couldn't stand for this and wouldn't. It didn't feel right. Thus, hours of hard work were poured into a critical article simply labeled: "Slaves are Humans too."

She didn't hear feedback on her progress for weeks, but as it was exam week, thought nothing of it.   
It was some of her best work, something she'd poured all her energy into.

 

Karen had spotted Mrs. Thompson heading down the hallway and decided it was about time she asked for her thoughts, but enthusiasm was met with disappointment when Mrs. Thompson regretfully informed her that she had been booted off of the Newspaper club, reasons unknown. As for the article itself she mentioned that it was pretty well written and articulate, but too "controversial" and "simply not what the school was looking for"

Mrs. Thompson cleared her throat before adding, "Blatantly calling it 'wrong'? I simply cannot agree. But no matter, I'm sorry Karen. Maybe you can try out again next year?" Without waiting for a response, she made a right into her office and closed the door. Karen was shocked.

* * *

The boy on the ground groaned in pain, turning himself over and then wincing. He lay there another few moments with his eyes closed. Karen quickly got to her feet.


End file.
